A strange incident occurred while he was staying
near the village of Ban Sam Phong. It was the dry
season. About 60 to 70 monks and novices were living
there, and there was not enough clean water
available. The monks held a meeting with the
villagers and decided that they would have to dig
the existing well deeper in order to acquire a
clean, adequate supply. After the decision was made,
a senior monk requested permission from Ãcariya Mun
to proceed with the work. After listening to the
request, Ãcariya Mun remained quiet for a moment
before he answered sternly in a rough voice, “No, it
could be dangerous.” That was all he said. The
senior monk was puzzled by the words “it could be
dangerous.” After paying his respects to Ãcariya Mun,
he related the conversation to the monks and the lay
people. Instead of agreeing with Ãcariya Mun, they
decided to proceed secretly with the plan.

The well was some distance from the monastery. At
noon, when they thought Ãcariya Mun was resting,
they quietly went out to dig. They had not dug very
deep when the earth around the top edge gave way and
collapsed into the well, leaving a gaping hole at
ground level and ruining the well with loose earth.
Everyone was terrified: Having disrespectfully
ignored Ãcariya Mun’s warning, and showing a lack of
mindfulness by failing to call off the project, they
had caused the earth to cave in, almost killing
someone in the process. They were afraid he would
find out what they had done against his express
wishes. They were extremely worried and felt
chastened by their error. Together they quickly
gathered wood to repair the mouth of the well,
praying all the while for Ãcariya Mun’s assistance
in their efforts to dig out the loose earth and
restore the well for use again. Fortunately, once
they appealed for Ãcariya Mun’s help, everything was
put into good order with amazing ease so that some
of them even ended up smiling. As soon as the work
was completed everyone fled the scene, afraid that
Ãcariya Mun might suddenly show up. Back in the
monastery the monks and novices remained in a state
of constant anxiety about what they had done. The
closer it came to the evening meeting, the more
apprehensive they became. They could all vividly
remember Ãcariya Mun’s scoldings in the past when
something of this nature had happened. Sometimes
when they did something inappropriate and then
forgot, Ãcariya Mun knew and eventually brought it
up as a way of teaching a lesson. The well incident
was a serious misdeed that was committed by the
whole monastery behind his back. How could he
possibly have not known about it? They were all
certain that he knew and that he was bound to
mention it that evening, or at the latest, the very
next morning. They were preoccupied with these
uncomfortable feelings for the rest of the day.

As it turned out, when the time arrived no meeting
was called. Instead of scolding them, Ãcariya Mun
mentioned nothing about the incident. Ãcariya Mun
was very astute in teaching his disciples. He knew
very well about the incident and about many other
mistakes made by the monks and novices. But he also
knew about their anxiety. Since they obviously
realized their mistake, scolding them at this point
would have needlessly increased their deep remorse.

Ãcariya Mun’s early morning routine was to rise from
seated meditation at dawn, then do walking
meditation until it was time to put on his robes at
the meeting hall before going for alms. The next
morning, when Ãcariya Mun left his walking path and
entered the meeting hall, the monks were still
worried about how he would deal with them. While
they waited in anxious anticipation, Ãcariya Mun
turned the whole affair around by speaking gently
and in a comforting manner designed to relieve their
distress:

“We came here to study Dhamma. We should not be
unreasonably audacious, nor should we be excessively
afraid. Anyone can make a mistake – the value lies
in recognizing our mistakes. The Lord Buddha made
mistakes before us. He realized where he had gone
wrong and strove to correct his errors as soon as he
became aware of them. This kind of intention is
noble, but still through ignorance mistakes can
happen. From now on you should all take care to
control yourselves under all circumstances. Using
mindfulness at all times to watch out for oneself is
the way of the wise.”

That was all he said. He just smiled broadly at the
monks in a disarming way and took them on almsround
as usual. There was no meeting later that evening,
Ãcariya Mun merely told everyone to be diligent in
their practice. Three nights passed without a
meeting. All during that time the monks and novices
were still scared he would scold them about the
well-digging incident. On the fourth night a meeting
was called. But again, no mention was made of the
incident, as though he knew nothing about it. A long
time later, after everyone had forgotten about the
matter, it quite unexpectedly cropped up. No one had
ever told him about the mishap, for the whole affair
had been hushed up. Ãcariya Mun himself never went
to the well, which was quite a distance from the
monastery.

He began a Dhamma discourse as he usually did,
speaking about various aspects of a monk’s practice,
about being reasonable and about having respect for
the teacher and Dhamma. These, he said, led to the
correct behavior of those coming to train and
practice under a teacher. He stressed that they
should especially take the issue of cause and effect
very seriously, for this was the true Dhamma:

“Although you’re constantly under pressure from your
desires, you shouldn’t allow them to surface and
intrude into the sphere of practice. Otherwise, they
will destroy Dhamma, the tried and true way to go
beyond dukkha, gradually spoiling all of your hopes.
Never should you go against Dhamma, the monastic
discipline, or the word of a respected teacher, as
this is equivalent to destroying yourselves.
Disobedience merely gives impetus to those bad
habits which are destructive to you and others as
well. The earth around that well was more than just
clay. There was also sand underneath. Digging too
deeply can cause the sand, then the clay to collapse
into the well, possibly burying and killing someone.
That was why I forbade it. I thoroughly investigate
everything before giving or refusing permission for
any type of work. Those who are here for training
should consider this. Some matters are exclusively
internal, and I don’t feel it necessary to reveal
every aspect of them.

“What I did reveal was clear enough for you to
understand; so why did you behave as if you didn’t?
When I forbid something, you go ahead and do it
anyway. If I tell you to do something, you do the
opposite. This was not a matter of misunderstanding
– you understood perfectly well. Being contrary like
this displays the stubborn side of your character,
dating from the time you lived with your parents who
tolerated it just to keep you happy. It has now
become an ingrained characteristic, buried deep
inside monks who are now adults. To make matters
worse, you flaunt it in the face of your teacher and
the spiritual life you lead. Stubbornness in a monk
of your age is unforgivable and cannot be tolerated
as mere childish behavior. It deserves a stern
reprimand. If you persist in being stubborn, it will
further entrench this unfortunate trait in you, so
that you will be appropriately branded as ‘obstinate
dhutanga monks’. Thus all your requisites should be
labeled ‘the belongings of an obstinate monk.’ This
monk is stubborn, that monk is shameless, the monk
over there is dazed – until the whole monastery ends
up doggedly disobedient. And I end up with nothing
but hardheaded students. Once obstinacy becomes the
norm, the world will break up from the strain and
the sãsana will surely be reduced to ruin. Which of
you still want to be a hardheaded monk? Is there
anyone here who wants me to be a teacher of
hardheaded monks? If so, go back tomorrow and dig
out that well again, so the earth can collapse and
bury you there. Then you will be reborn in a
hardheaded heavenly paradise where the devas can all
come and admire your true greatness. Surely no group
of devas, including those in the brahma realms, have
ever seen or lived in such a peculiar paradise.”

After that the tone of his voice became gentler, as
did the theme of his talk, enabling his audience to
wholeheartedly reflect on the error of their
stubborn disobedience. During the talk, it seemed as
if everyone had forgotten to breathe. Once the talk
was over and the meeting adjourned, the monks
excitedly questioned one another to find out who
might have dared inform Ãcariya Mun of the incident,
prompting this severe scolding which nearly made
them faint. Everyone denied informing him, as each
dreaded a scolding as much as another. The incident
passed without a definitive answer to how Ãcariya
Mun knew.

Mun possessed a mastery of psychic skills concerning
all sorts of phenomena. Over the years, his
proficiency grew to such an extent that there seemed
to be no limit to his abilities. As the monks living
with him were well aware of these abilities, they
took strict care to be mentally self-controlled at
all times. They couldn’t afford to let their minds
wander carelessly because their errant thoughts
could become the subject of a Dhamma talk they might
receive at the evening meeting. They needed to be
especially vigilant during the meeting when Ãcariya
Mun was actually speaking to them. In those brief
moments when he stopped speaking – perhaps to catch
his breath, perhaps to observe something – if he
detected any stray thought among the monks, he
immediately made an issue of it. The tone of his
voice changed dramatically as he mimicked the
unmindful thoughts of one of those present. Although
Ãcariya Mun did not mention anyone by name, his tone
immediately startled that individual who became
quite frightened to ever dare think like that again.

Another time to be careful was when they followed
him on almsround. Those who were unmindful then were
bound to hear about their wayward thoughts at the
next meeting. Sometimes it was very embarrassing to
have to listen to a talk on one’s own wayward
thoughts as other monks cast sidelong glances around
the assembly, not knowing who among them was being
reprimanded. But once discovered, all the monks and
novices tended to react similarly in a positive
manner. Instead of feeling angry or disappointed
after leaving the meeting, all would appear cheerful
and content; some even laughed as they inquired of
each other: “Who was it today? Who got caught
today?” It’s remarkable how honest they were with
their fellow monks about their errant
thoughts. Instead of trying to keep his indiscretion
a secret, the guilty
monk would confess as soon as someone asked: “I’m
really stubborn and
I couldn’t help thinking about … even though I knew
I was bound to get
told off for thinking like that. When those thoughts
came up, I forgot
all about my fear of Ãcariya Mun and just felt full
of myself thinking
such crazy thoughts. I deserved exactly what I got.
It will teach me a
good lesson about losing my self-control.”

I would like to apologize to the reader because I
don’t feel very comfortable about writing down some
of these matters. But these stories are factual –
they actually happened. The decision to include them
was a difficult one to make. But if what I recount
is the truth, it should be all right. It could be
compared to a situation in which a monk confesses to
a disciplinary offense as a means of eliminating any
sense of guilt or anxiety about its recurrence in
the future. Thus, I would like to relate a few
incidents from the past to serve as food for thought
for all of you whose thoughts may cause you similar
problems.

In most cases, practicing monks received a severe
rebuke from Ãcariya Mun because of affairs
pertaining to external sense objects. For example,
sights and sounds are the most likely sense
impressions to cause trouble. And the most likely
occasion for monks to be scolded was the morning
almsround. Walking to the village for alms is an
essential duty of every monk. On these occasions,
monks encounter sights and sounds, and are bound to
think about them. Some become so infatuated with
what they encounter that their thoughts swirl into
disarray without their actual knowledge. These are
the primary causes of mental distraction, enticing
the mind even when one has no desire to think about
them. By the time a monk regained mindfulness, it
was time for the evening meeting and the
tongue-lashing he received would prompt him to try
to be more controlled. After a time, he again
encountered the same enticing objects and reopened
the sore. Upon returning to the monastery, he would
receive another dose of ‘strong medicine’, in the
form of another scolding, to apply to his sore. A
great many monks and novices lived with Ãcariya Mun
and most of them had such festering sores. If one
monk didn’t get a dose of his medicine then another
did. They went to the village and were confronted by
attractive sights and sounds until they were unable
to stay out of trouble. Consequently, upon their
return to the monastery, when the opportunity arose,
Ãcariya Mun would have another go at them. It’s
natural for someone with kilesas to have a mixture
of good and bad thoughts. Ãcariya Mun did not give a
lecture for every bad thought. What he criticized
was the tendency to think in harmful ways. He wanted
them to think in terms of Dhamma, using mindfulness
and wisdom, so that they could free themselves from
dukkha. He found that, instead of easing their
teacher’s burden with rightful thinking, monks
preferred to think in ways that troubled him. Since
many such monks lived with him, there were scoldings
nearly every evening.

All of this serves to illustrate that Ãcariya Mun’s
subtle ability to know the thoughts of others was
very real.As
for those reprehensible thoughts, they did not arise
intentionally but accidentally, due to occasional
lapses in mindfulness. Nevertheless, as a teacher
imparting knowledge and skill to his students,
Ãcariya Mun quickly sounded a warning when he
noticed something inappropriate, so that the
perpetrator could become conscious of his lapse and
learn to be more selfcontrolled in the future. He
did not want his students to get trapped into such
thinking again, for it promotes habitual thought
patterns that lead directly to misfortune.

Ãcariya Mun’s teaching for the monks was thoroughly
meticulous, showing great attention to detail. The
rules of monastic discipline were taught in detail
and samãdhi and wisdom, belonging to the higher
Dhamma, were taught in even greater depth. During
the time he lived in Sarika Cave, he had already
begun to master all levels of samãdhi and all
intermediate levels of wisdom. As for the highest
levels of wisdom, I shall write about them later in
the story when Ãcariya Mun’s practice finally
reached that stage. After continuing his training in
the Northeast region for a while longer, he became
even more proficient. This enabled him to use his
expertise to teach the monks about all levels of
samãdhi, plus the intermediate levels of wisdom.
They in turn listened intently to his expositions,
which never deviated from the authentic principles
of samãdhi and wisdom.

Ãcariya Mun’s samãdhi was strange and quite
extraordinary, whether it was khaõika samãdhi,
upacãra samãdhi or appanã samãdhi.34
When his citta entered into khaõika samãdhi, it
remained only for a moment, and instead of returning
to its normal state, it then withdrew and entered
upacãra samãdhi. In that state, he came into contact
with a countless variety of external phenomena.
Sometimes he was involved with ghosts, sometimes
devas, sometimes nãgas – innumerable worlds of
existence were contacted by this type of samãdhi. It
was this access level samãdhi that Ãcariya Mun used
to receive visitors whose forms were invisible to
normal sight and whose voices were inaudible to
normal hearing. Sometimes his citta floated up out
of his body and went off to look at the heavenly
realms and the different levels of the brahma world;
then, it traveled down into the regions of hell to
look at the multitude of beings tormented by the
results of their own kamma.

The terms ‘going up’ and ‘going down’ are relative,
conventional figures of speech, referring to the
behavior of gross physical bodies. They have very
little in common with the behavior of the citta,
which is something so subtle that it is beyond
temporal comparison. In terms of the physical body,
going up and going down require a degree of earnest
effort, but in terms of the citta, they are merely
figures of speech with no degree of effort involved.
When we say that the heavens, the brahma realms, and
Nibbãna are progressively ‘higher’ and more refined
levels of existence or that the realms of hell
consist of progressively ‘lower’ levels of
existence, we are in fact using a physical, material
standard to measure that which exists in a
spiritual, psychic dimension. We might say that hell
and heaven, which are considered to be lower and
higher respectively, are in some respects analogous
to hardened criminals and petty offenders who live
together in the same prison, which itself is located
in a community of law-abiding citizens. There’s no
distinction in kind between the two types of
prisoners because they all live together in the same
prison. And there’s no distinction in kind between
them and law-abiding citizens because they are all
human beings living on the same land in the same
country. What distinguishes them is the fact that
they’ve been kept separated.

At least the prison inmates and the general public
can use their normal sense faculties to be aware of
each other. But beings in the different spheres of
existence are unaware of each other. Those living in
the hell realms are unable to perceive those who are
in the heavenly realms; and vice versa. Both groups
are unable to perceive the brahma world. And human
beings, in turn, are unaware of all who are in these
different realms of existence. Even though the flows
of consciousness from each of these beings
intermingle constantly as they pass through one
another’s sphere of existence, they are as oblivious
of others as if theirs is the only group in
existence.

Ordinarily, our minds are unable to know the
thoughts of others. Because of this inability, we
might then reason that they do not really exist. No
matter how persistent these denials might be, we
would be wrong because all living beings possess a
mind. Even though we are not aware of the thoughts
of other beings, we have no right to deny that they
exist simply because we can’t perceive them. We
cannot afford to hold hostage within the limitations
of our sense faculties the existence of things which
are too subtle to see and hear. If we do, we are
just fooling ourselves.

When we say that the heavens and the brahma worlds
are arranged vertically in a series of realms, one
shouldn’t understand this in the gross material
sense – such as, a house with many stories requiring
the use of stairs or an elevator. These realms exist
in a spiritual dimension and they are ascended in
the spiritual sense by spiritual means: that is, by
the heart which has developed this sort of
capability through the practice of virtue. When we
say that hell is ‘down below’, this does not mean
descending into an abyss. Rather, it refers to
descent by spiritual means to a spiritual
destination. And those who are able to observe the
hell realms do so by virtue of their own internal
psychic faculties. But those beings who ‘fall’ into
these realms do so through the power of their own
evil kamma. They remain there, experiencing whatever
torment and agony is imposed on them by their own
misdeeds, until they have completed their punishment
and are released, in the same way that prison
inmates are released at the end of their sentences.

From the very beginning of Ãcariya Mun’s practice,
upacãra samãdhi and khaõika samãdhi were bound
together because the nature of his citta was
inherently active and adventurous. As soon as his
citta entered khaõika samãdhi, it instantly began to
roam and experience the different phenomena existing
in the sphere of upacãra. So he trained himself in
samãdhi until he was proficient enough to make his
citta stay still or go out to experience various
phenomena as he wished. From then on it was easy for
him to practice the samãdhi of his choice. For
instance, he could enter momentarily into khaõika
samãdhi and then move out to access samãdhi in order
to experience various phenomena, or he could focus
intensively and enter into the full absorption of
appanã samãdhi, where he would rest for as long as
necessary. Appanã samãdhi is a state of perfect calm
that’s absolutely serene and peaceful. Because of
this, meditators may become attached to it. Ãcariya
Mun said that he was attached to this type of
samãdhi for awhile, but not for long, since he was
by nature inclined toward wisdom. So he was able to
resolve this matter himself and find a way out
before complacency set in.

Anyone who is transfixed in appanã samãdhi will make
slow progress if they do not try to apply wisdom to
examine it. Because it fills one with such
happiness, many meditators are held fast by this
kind of samãdhi. A strong, lingering attachment
forms, and the meditator yearns for more,
overwhelming any inclination to examine things with
wisdom, which is the way to eradicate all kilesas.
Meditators who fail to receive timely advice from a
wise person will be reluctant to disengage
themselves and realize the path of wisdom. When the
citta remains attached for a long time in such
samãdhi, conceits of various kinds may develop; such
as, believing that this calm and happy state is none
other than Nibbãna, the end of dukkha. In truth,
when the citta ‘converges’ into the onepointedness
of appanã samãdhi so that its focal point is
experienced with the utmost clarity, it dwells fully
absorbed in serene happiness. But, the kilesas that
cause birth in all realms of existence
simultaneously converge at the same focal point as
well. If wisdom is not used to penetrate and destroy
those kilesas, there is no doubt that future
rebirths will take place. Therefore, regardless of
the level of samãdhi one practices, wisdom should be
incorporated into the practice as well. This is
especially true of appanã samãdhi. Otherwise, the
citta will only experience tranquility without
evincing a capacity for resourcefulness and
discernment.

BY
THE TIME OF HIS SECOND TRIP
to the Northeast, Ãcariya Mun was wellexperienced in
the intermediate level of wisdom, since sufficient
wisdom is necessary for having advanced to the
Anãgãmï level of Dhamma. Otherwise, he would not
have been capable of effective investigation at that
level. Before reaching that level, one must employ
wisdom to successfully pass through body
contemplation. This requires seeing the attractive
as well as the repulsive aspects of the body without
getting caught up in either extreme.
The citta uses wisdom to isolate the attractive and
repulsive aspects and then passes through the
midpoint where these two extremes meet, having
resolved all doubt and attachment concerning the
body. This passage, however, is nothing more than a
transitional stage along the way. It is analogous to
taking an examination and passing with the minimum
requirement, necessitating further study to achieve
the maximum grade. Those who have penetrated to the
Anãgãmï level of understanding must still train
their wisdom until it reaches an even more refined
degree of expertise before it can be said that they
are full-fledged Anãgãmïs. Should such a person then
die, he would immediately be reborn in the fifth or
akaniååha plane of the brahma world without having
to pass through the four lower brahma planes.

Ãcariya Mun recounted how he was delayed at that
level for quite some time because he had no one to
advise him. As he struggled to familiarize himself
with the Anãgãmï level of practice, he had to be
very careful not to make any mistakes. He knew from
his experience in analyzing subtle aspects of Dhamma
that the kilesas might undermine his efforts, for
they were as equally subtle as the mindfulness and
wisdom he was using to counter them. This made it
very difficult to penetrate each successive level of
Dhamma. He said it was absolutely incredible how
hard he struggled to negotiate that dense, thorny
thicket. Before he made his way through to come and
kindly teach the rest of us, he suffered great
hardship, making the arduous journey all alone.

When the occasion was right, he used to describe
this part of his practice to us. I myself was moved
to tears in two instances while listening to his
description of the terrible ordeal he faced at that
time, and the amazingly subtle and profound nature
of the Dhamma he attained. I wondered whether I had
enough inherent virtue to enable me to crawl along
in his footsteps, or whether I was destined to go
the way of ordinary people in the world. But his
words were very encouraging and always helped to
sustain my resolve to persevere. Ãcariya Mun said
that whenever he accelerated his efforts to apply
wisdom, his citta became weary of association with
others and he became even more committed to his
meditation practice. He knew at that stage that his
practice still needed strengthening; yet he felt
obliged to stay and train his disciples so that they
might also develop some Dhamma principles in their
hearts.

ÃCARIYA
MUN
LIVED
for three or four years in the area of Ban Sam Phong
village in Sri Songkhram district, Nakhon Phanom
province. He spent one year at Ban Huay Sai village
in Kham Cha-ee district of the same province, as
well as the villages of Nong Sung and Khok Klang. He
particularly liked staying in those places since
they were all very mountainous. Nearby in the Pak
Kut mountains were many devas – and tigers there
were particularly abundant. When night descended,
tigers would wander around his living area while the
devas came to rejoice in hearing the Dhamma.

In the middle of the night, the roars of huge tigers
echoed through the forest close to where he lived.
On some nights a whole host of them roared together,
much like a crowd of people yelling back and forth
to one another. When the terrifying sounds of those
enormous cats resounded through the darkness, the
effect was indeed very frightening. There were
nights when the monks and novices failed to get any
sleep, fearing that the tigers would come to snatch
and devour them. Ãcariya Mun cleverly found ways to
use their fear of tigers to spur the monks to
practice diligently. Rather enigmatically, he would
say: “Anyone who’s efforts are lazy – watch out! The
tigers in this mountain range really love lazy
monks. They find them especially tasty eating! So if
you want to avoid becoming a tasty meal for a tiger,
you had better be diligent. You see, tigers are
actually afraid of anyone who’s diligently striving,
so they won’t eat that person.” After hearing this,
all the monks redoubled their efforts as though
their very lives depended on it. They forced
themselves to go out and do walking meditation,
despite the roar of tigers all around the vicinity.
Although they remained afraid, they believed what
Ãcariya Mun told them: that lazy monks could expect
to be a tiger’s next meal.

Their precarious situation was made even worse by
the fact that they didn’t have huts as they would in
a monastery – only small platforms just big enough
to sleep on which were very low to the ground. If a
tiger became hungry there’d be no contest. Ãcariya
Mun related that on some nights huge tigers wandered
into the monk’s area, but then simply walked
harmlessly past. He knew that tigers normally would
not dare do anything for the devas were always on
guard. When devas came for a Dhamma talk, they
mentioned to him that they were protecting the area
and would not let anything trouble the monks or
cause them harm. Those devas also invited Ãcariya
Mun to remain in the area for a long time.

In truth, Ãcariya Mun’s admonition to the monks was
simply a means of arousing fear so that they would
take an increased interest in their practice. As for
the tigers, they seemed to know that the monks’
living area was a safe haven. Various kinds of wild
animals, too, felt no need to be wary of hunters
entering the monks’ vicinity, for when the villagers
knew where Ãcariya Mun was staying, they rarely
dared to hunt the area. They were concerned about
the dreadful moral consequences. They were terrified
that if anyone shot a gun in that area it would
explode in his hands and kill him. Strangely enough,
whenever he went to stay in an area teeming with
tigers, those beasts would stop killing the
domesticated cows and buffaloes around the local
villages. Nobody knew where they went to obtain
their food. These remarkable incidents were related
by Ãcariya Mun himself and later confirmed by
many villagers in those localities where he had
stayed